Two out of Three
by Chaseblaire
Summary: Being in love with your two best friends is difficult, especially when the two friends in question are already in love with each other. Demyx learns this the hard way when Roxas walks in on him while he is in the bathtub.


Roxas didn't see me at first when he came into the bathroom. I sank deeper in the water, silently, all but my eyes submerged. My hair floated on the surface of the water like matted rope, seaweed. Roxas's movements were sleepy as he fumbled in the medicine cabinet for the toothpaste. His hair stuck up at right angles from his head, his eyes were ringed with tired shadow, the corners of his mouth turned down. It wasn't until he was brushing his teeth, until he looked in the mirror that Roxas noticed I was in the bathtub. The glass reflected his surprise clearly, showed the way his eyebrows shot up like a cartoon. In that moment, he didn't seem real.

"Demyx! I didn't see you there. Sorry, I'll just go," He spluttered, nervous, toothpaste foam on the corners of his mouth. He stared down at the tiles. The grout was black with mildew in places, damp from water that had sloshed over the rim of the tub. Rust speckled the metal frame of the bathtub and the sides were decorated with soap scum. I heaped bubble bath suds over my body, building towers that peaked and sagged like stiff egg whites.

"No, it's okay," I said.

"I didn't expect to see you up this early. You usually sleep late on the weekends." Roxas spoke to the mirror, eyes lowered. There was awkwardness in his shoulders, tense under his shirt, but he didn't move towards the door.

I sank beneath the water, holding my nose. It was peaceful and dark underwater, bubbles popping as air escaped the corners of my mouth. My hands drifting to the surface, resting feather light on the bubbles. My wrists went limp as a dancer's and imagined I was tragic and beautiful, the drowned hero. I opened my eyes and saw Roxas's face, wavy and distorted by water, his forehead wrinkled in consternation. His eyebrows pointed down now. Hands plunged into the water, grabbed my naked shoulders and yanked me up. Suds coated his arms up to the elbow.

"What were you thinking? I thought you had drowned, you stayed under so long," he scolded, "Don't do that again, you hear?"Roxas's voice was harsh and pedantic, but his eyes were soft and concerned. In that moment, he seemed like a brother or a comrade-in-arms, the gruff hero in a war movie.

"I can hold my breath for over a minute and a half," I told him, sullen, "Almost two."

Roxas sat on the closed toilet seat, back hunched and hands resting on his knees. He forgot to look away. There was still toothpaste smeared above his upper lip and drying bubble bath flaked off his forearms. Porcelain was cool against my cheek as I pressed my face against the side of the tub.

"Yeah, well," He sighed, "Maybe you should let me know next time you plan on doing your mermaid act. You're going to give me a heart attack. You or Axel."

I hummed a nonsense song, something that sounded a little like the _Sesame Street _theme, ignoring the mention of Axel; thinking about him right now was too hard. Soapy water sloshed as I fished the washcloth out and pretended to concentrate on washing my arms, my stomach, my shoulders.

"Axel's a piece of work, you know. A lot to handle."

I didn't respond, reached with the washcloth for the middle of my back, the hollow underneath my shoulder blades but couldn't quite reach it.

"Here," Roxas said quietly, taking the cloth out of my hand, "Let me."

I closed my eyes, went still and silent as he rung the washcloth out and re-lathered it. Water dripped loudly from the faucet as he washed my back. The washcloth was rough-soft against my back, his touch nervous and sure. I didn't object when his free hand settled on my shoulder, in the hollow of my neck. Roxas's hand was warm, soft and uncalloused. I wondered if this was what it was to have a lover, someone who cared.

"Good night," he said, inexplicably, because it was morning. Cool, dry lips pressed briefly against mine. His lips were chapped. When I dared to look at him I saw his big blue eyes wide, mouth slack with surprise. He touched his mouth with his fingertips unconsciously, turned to go. I reached for his sleeve reflexively. I didn't want him to leave.

"Wait," I said, "Roxas."

"Yeah?" He looked nervous.

"You slept with Axel, didn't you?" I accused, gripping his sleeve so tight my knuckles went white. He sat back down heavily. Spots of color appeared on his cheeks and the tips of his ears went red with shame. His eyes darted around the room, looking anywhere but at me. In that moment he looked like a child caught doing something he knew was wrong. One hand in the cookie jar. I let go of his arm and he rubbed the damp spot absently.

"You fucked him," I said, louder now. The words sounded wrong in my mouth, harsh and unfamiliar. I felt like a different person, felt dangerous. I remembered that I was older than Roxas, that he was supposed to be the child in the room.

"Whoa, whoa," Roxas said, shocked, holding up his hands. _Don't shoot, I'm unarmed_.

"You have a girlfriend," I told him and pain blossomed on Roxas's face like blood from a gunshot wound.

"I know."

Silence.

"Can you hand me a towel?" I asked. There was one heaped hopelessly against the wall and Benjamin handed it to me wordlessly. I stood up and wrapped it around me, tucking it in snugly. There was a nameless dark stain on one corner, ugly against the white. Flies buzzed deafeningly around the ceiling light as a deep furrow grew between Roxas's eyebrows. Water sucked and popped at my ankles as the bath drained with loud, raspy slurping noises.

"I know," he repeated, "I shouldn't have. Namine would- this would _kill _her."

I sat on the side of the tub and rung out my hair, water spattering thickly on the rubber bath mat. Our knees bumped, once, twice. Tangled blonde hair fell into his face as he slumped over, and I almost felt sorry for him. I wanted to ask him why he had slept with Axel, but I couldn't bear to Roxas say it, couldn't bear to hear that he loved Axel or that Axel loved him. Even he didn't, it wouldn't mean what I hoped. It wouldn't mean that Roxas loved _me_, or that _Axel_ loved me. I wasn't sure which one I wanted more. Maybe both.

"There's toothpaste on your face," I told him solemnly. Surprise lit up Roxas's face and then a smile breathed life into his deflated expression. I wanted to bottle up that smile, put it in my pocket for a rainy day like the falling star in that song. He rubbed his jaw with the ball of his thumb, missing the smear completely.

"Here?" He asked.

"No," I smiled, "Above your lip, by your nose."

"How about now?"

"Almost, a little to the left. There! You got it."

"Thanks, Dem," he said in a gravelly, old-fashioned movie voice. Impulsively, I tousled his hair, bent down and hugged him.

"Anytime," I whispered into Roxas's ear like a secret. Hair from his cowlick tickled my nose. "Anytime."

Roxas smelled like dried sweat, Axel, and something personal I couldn't identify. The ceiling fan whooshed loudly overhead. When I kissed him his lips were chapped and scabbed, his tongue salty and smooth. Our teeth clicked together awkwardly and our noses bumped, once, twice, and when I tried to laugh it off I snorted.

"Demyx," Roxas said, "What about Namine? Axel?"

"I love you," I told him, letting the towel drop. I covered him with myself, body flush against body. Damp spots spread across his shirt like raindrops as I pulled it off him, fumbled with his boxers until they were around his ankles. I wrapped my hand around him, felt his hardness. My eyes were closed; I was scared to look at him.

"Demyx," Roxas groaned.

"Yes. Demyx," I whispered into his ear, running my tongue along the hard, delicate shell. I risked a peek at his face. Roxas's eyes were closed, lashes fluttering anxiously against his cheek while his mouth gasped open and closed wordlessly. I smiled. Not Axel.


End file.
